Ich Will Dich Verfolgen
by Aulophobic Clarinetist
Summary: When Prussia ceased to exist, its personification as Gilbert Beilschmidt found himself in a ghost-like state. Haunting the basement of Arthur Kirkland, the only one able to see him, he begins to take interest in a quiet Canadian. Eventual PruCan. AU
1. Chapter 1

**Hey everyone! This is a story I've been planning for a while. It will eventually be PruCan! Ich will dich verfolgen roughly translates to I will follow you. Three semesters of German is finally paying off. **

**I don't own Hetalia. I wish I did. **

Introduction:

Arthur Kirkland was angry. Another loud crash sounded from the depths of his basement. No, now he was angry. Scratch that, he was livid. All because of the bloody Prussian now inhabiting his basement. He never knew how he got himself into these situations.

Well, he knew _how_, he just didn't quite know why he tended to do this to himself.

Gilbert Beilschmidt had been living with him for weeks now, and he had been driving Arthur crazy from the start.

The day Prussia ended was apparently the day Gilbert ceased to exist as a human personification of said nation. In fact, he wasn't really a human at all anymore. He was invisible and silent to everyone, able to walk through walls and float around, but also able to pick things up. He was a ghost.

A few days later, Arthur had been driving home, only to see the Prussian's things piled up outside of Germany's house. He felt bad for Ludwig; he could never imagine losing a brother. Then he had seen Gilbert next to his things. At first, Arthur was angry at such a cruel trick, but then he had seen the sad and confused look on Gilbert's face as he stood next to his stack of stuff. He looked lost.

With a sigh, inwardly cursing himself for getting into these situations, he had offered to help Gilbert get to wherever he needed to go.

It turned out that Arthur was the only one Gilbert had found who was able to hear and see him. Gilbert was ecstatic he had found someone who could still communicate with him. Arthur begrudgingly offered to let Gilbert occupy his basement until he found somewhere else to live.

Gilbert's excitement was short-lived, however, as he spent the rest of his time moping around Arthur's house, depressed that no one could see him, upset that his time had ended before he wanted it to. He continuously broke things in his clumsy, sad state of mind, therefore becoming the bane of the Englishman's existence.

And somehow, he could see Gilbert all the time, unlike his other friends. He wished Gilbert was as cute or nice as the flying mint bunny, and then he wouldn't mind having him around as much.

There was another crash from his basement. Arthur slammed his book shut, stalking over to his basement door. Gilbert Beilschmidt wasn't a ghost. He was more of a poltergeist.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey everyone! Thank you all so much for the reviews/faves/and alerts! I've never gotten so many alerts for just one chapter before!**

**Here's chapter 2!**

Pain was all Gilbert could feel. He knew in an instant that it was over, that Prussia was no longer a nation. It shouldn't have come as such a surprise, Prussia had been falling for quite some time, and Gilbert knew this. It was the reason he felt sick sometimes and sometimes the reason why he drank so much. But he had never assumed that his awesome nation would ever completely not exist. Hell, Poland stuck around, didn't he?

He wondered what it would be like, not existing. As a nation, at least. Would he turn mortal? Would he retain his awesomeness? Would he even exist? Though he had known of Prussia's decline, and though he'd done everything he could, he had been in denial about the impending end. There was so much more he had wanted to do as a country, as an empire, as a person.

Another burst of pain shot through him, radiating out through his limbs. He felt like he was being torn apart. He felt parts of his land being ripped away as maps were redrawn. He felt his heart break for his people who lost their control, their identity.

"This must be what dying feels like," he managed to mutter to himself before the burning pain became too much to feel, too much to comprehend, and he passed out feeling cold and numb.

When he regained consciousness later, it seemed like nothing had changed. He sat up on the floor of his room, which was the entirety of his brother's basement, and looked around.

"Huh." he said. Apparently not being a nation felt exactly the same as before. He smirked when he realized he could just keep living in his brother's basement and not have to go to World Meetings.

According to his alarm clock, he'd been out for a few hours. He had plans with Antonio and Francis that night and he was already late. They were just hanging out at the bar, but they couldn't start having fun without his awesome self anyway. He reached down to push himself off the floor, but a strange feeling enveloped his hand as it went through the carpet.

He stared at it for a moment, then pulled it up shaking his head. Passing out did some weird things to your brain. Standing up successfully, he tried to leave the room but his foot went straight through the first stair.

"Mein Gott." he muttered, slipping into German in shock as he pulled his limb free, causing himself to topple over. Well, now he'd have something even more exciting and awesome to talk about when he met up with this fellow Bad Touch Trio members at the bar. He could really use a beer right now.

He pushed open the heavy wooden door to the crowded bar. It had taken him a bit longer to get there than usual because of the whole problem of getting his feet stuck in things. After a moment of searching the loud mass of people, he saw his friends in the corner, backs turned. Smirking, he snuck up to them but stopped when he saw that Antonio was crying and Francis was staring dismally into a half-empty glass of wine.

"Whoa. Guys. What's up?" he asked, concerned. Neither of them responded. Whatever happened must've been bad.

"Toni. Francis. Sprecht mich!" He poked the Spaniard's shoulder. Well, tried to. His hand went straight through his friend and his crimson eyes widened. This was definitely not normal.

"Do you think this was a good idea, Francis?" Antonio asked miserably.

The Frenchman sighed, "I don't know, mon cher. I don't know."

"I just can't believe it. I can't, Francis. He's gone."

He? Did something happen to Romano?

Francis took a sip of his wine. "Coming here was a mistake. Too many memories." Antonio nodded his agreement tearfully.

Gilbert frowned. Romano had probably never been to this bar before, at least not when Gilbert here, which was often, so it couldn't be him.

"You're lucky you didn't see Ludwig when he found out. I just can't get his face out of my mind."

"Ludwig? What happened to West?" Gilbert demanded as Antonio threw back a shot and resumed crying.

"I miss him so much already!" Francis nodded once and the Spaniard waved for another round. "I just wish I got to say goodbye."

"That's enough, mon ami, getting yourself as drunk as...as he did, as we all did, it won't help anything."

"I know." he whimpered.

"To Gilbert?" Francis raised his wine glass.

"To Gilbert." Antonio replied and they both finished their drinks.

"To me? What's going on? I know I'm awesome, but this isn't funny!" Neither replied again as they stood up from the bar and turned to walk out, and Francis walked straight _through_ Gilbert.

Then it hit him. They couldn't see him. They couldn't hear him. Prussia was gone, and now, apparently, so was he. Like when the Roman Empire and Germania fell. Except, he was still here somehow. Maybe because Prussia's end was more gradual and peaceful. Maybe because he was just that awesome.

But what was the point if you were alone? He ran after his friends, finding it increasingly confusing that his moments of solid-ness seemed to be sporadic. He managed to run through an oblivious couple, but into the door. Shaking it off to figure out later, he turned in the direction of Ludwig's office.

He finally got through this door (he ran into it but his hand went through the knob on his first attempt) and rounded the corner into Ludwig's office. At least the floors were being solid at the moment. The office was in a state of disarray he'd never seen before. There were dozens of boxes of paperwork stacked haphazardly around the room and on top of his desk.

Their boss walked through him. "Here's the last box, Mr. Beilschmidt. I am sorry about your loss, but we'll need those papers organized by Monday." Their boss put the final box on top of the too-tall stack on the desk and left the room without another word.

Gilbert leaned over to look in a box. Hey. These were his papers! Oh. Of course. Ludwig would get most of everything now that Prussia was gone. He felt a bit bad about how jumbled his files were. They'd take Ludwig hours to go through. He hated that all the pressure was on his little brother now.

"West?" he called, sidestepping a dangerously tilted box to see Ludwig slumped against his desk, head in his hands. He felt like he should offer to help, if he could pick anything up, that is.

"Hey...West?" Gilbert tried again. His brother couldn't hear or see him either. He sighed and tried to poke him to no avail. Ludwig's shoulders were shaking slightly. Was he...crying? A muffled sniff confirmed his suspicions. He hadn't seen seen his brother cry in decades.

Was all this sadness, his friends, his brother, because of him? He knew he was awesome, but he didn't think people would miss him _that _much.

"Oh, West." he sighed, his hand trying to rest comfortingly on his shoulder just going through him.

If only there was a way to communicate, to let him know he was still here. Without scaring him of course. Or doing something stupid. He could try moving a box or some papers, but Ludwig would probably just dismiss it as a draft. Gilbert tried anyway, but his finders went straight through everything.

Ludwig's phone rang. "Hallo?" he answered miserably, hands leaving his tear-streaked face.

Gilbert heard a faint "Ve~ Ludwig! Are you doing ok?" Feliciano. Maybe he could help.

"...nein." Ludwig answered quietly after a moment. He'd never heard his brother sound so broken.

"I'm almost there, I just got to your building, hold on a second!" He hung up just as Feliciano bounded into the room and flung his arms around Ludwig, one of them going through Gilbert's chest.

"I'm sorry, Ludwig!" Feliciano hugged him tighter. "I know it was so sudden! I don't know what I'd do if Lovino disappeared like that. I know he's annoying, but he's still my brother. I wish we were more like real people sometimes so we could have a funeral and everything, ve~ but I guess it's better you don't have to see them die and- Oh. I've made you cry again! I'm sorry, Ludwig, I'll try to stop talking!" Feliciano rambled, teary-eyed.

"I'm still here, Dummkopf." Gilbert said halfheartedly, then remembered no one could hear him.

His brother raised one shaking hand to cover one of Feliciano's while remaining staring straight ahead.

Gilbert was happy someone was there for his brother. He looked at their hands for a moment longer and a wave of sadness came over him. He'd never had someone like that. And now he never would. He felt like he wasted so much of his life.

He left them to go back to his lonely basement. Maybe he could try figuring out how he was sometimes able to touch things.

He knew he'd get bored _fast _if he was stuck here and not able to do _anything_. Maybe this state was temporary, just until everything was sorted out, and then he would finish disappearing. It still didn't make sense.

With another sigh, he walked through the wall of their house and into his basement.

After a day or two of attempting to touch things or go through them, Gilbert still was not getting the hand of it. He was better at going through things than touching things and he wondered if he was fading even more. He decided to try to move some things other than his own stuff in the basement because he was getting bored.

A few unsuccessful hours later, he returned home through the wall to find Ludwig and Feliciano almost finished boxing up all of his stuff.

"Hei! West! Was machst du? That's my stuff!" he yelled, alternating between German and English in his state of agitation as he tried to grab a box, but his hands went right through it.

"Ve~ Ludwig, are you sure you want to be doing this? If it happened to Lovino, I think I'd want to keep-"

"Ja." he interrupted. "I can't keep any of it. It won't help me move on."

Move on? Was he trying to forget him already? "West? Bruder? Ludwig!" His yells went unanswered. "Halten Sie!" he demanded as the pair began carrying the boxes up the stairs and out of this house into the driveway.

"But what are you going to do with it all, Ludwig?" Gilbert heard Feliciano ask as he finally managed to get outside.

"I...I don't know. I'll call someone later I guess. I just can't handle it right now."

"Ve~" Feliciano patted his arm sympathetically and led him back inside.

Gilbert watched them carry the rest of his things outside miserably, then stood next to his stuff in disbelief. Was this what he was reduced to? A few stacks of boxes piled up outside that no one wanted? He used to be the Great and Awesome Prussia!

He sighed and stared at his stuff that would soon no longer be his since he couldn't even manage to pick anything up and save it.

A few long moments later, he heard an irate British voice yell "Hey!" and turned on instinct, before realizing that no one could see him, and turned back around sadly.

"Yes, you, Beilschmidt!" Gilbert looked around in search of his brother, but no one else seemed to be outside. What had West done that pissed off the Brit so badly?

"Gilbert, who the bloody hell do you think I'm talking to?" the albino whirled around in shock as the smaller man was advancing up the driveway, scowling beneath his bushy eyebrows. Arthur could see him? His eyes widened as the angry Englishman stomped over to stand right in front of him.

"That was an awful trick to play on your friends, pretending to not exist. The bloody Frog called me at two this morning because he was too sad to sleep and Spain has been crying for days! I knew you were an arse sometimes but I didn't think you would stoop so low as to-"

"You can see me?" Gilbert interrupted, cursing the hopefulness in his voice.

"Of course I can see you, you idio- oh. _Oh._ Oh no. No no no. This is _not _happening. No. Please tell me it was all a joke?"

"What?" Gilbert responded intelligently.

"Damn it all! Can people really not see you?" he snapped.

"Ja...?" he was confused. Why could Arthur see him and _why _was he freaking out so much?

"Pick up that box," the previously angry man demanded.

"I can't."

"Bugger." He sighed. "I thought so."

"How can you see me?"

"I can see a lot of things others can't. I'm sorry, Gilbert, you must be a ghost." he sighed again, "enough people already think I'm crazy for talking to Flying Mint Bunny, but he's real, dammit, and talking to you will just make things worse. I will now take my leave and I bid you good day and good luck."

"Wait! Can't you stay? I haven't had anyone to talk to in _days_ and I don't know what to do with my stuff and I...I don't know what to do at all." He hated asking for help. He _never _asked for help. But he was desperate at this point.

The Brit regarded him for a moment, then made a soft frustrated noise. "If you need a place to stay for a while until you sort things out, I suppose my basement is available."

Gilbert's face brightened into the first smile he'd had in days. "Great!"

"I'll...erm, go inquire about your things then, shall I?" He rounded the corner and rang the doorbell, Gilbert following happily. A tired and defeated looking Ludwig answered.

"Arthur?"

"Er. Hello, Ludwig, how are you holding up?" At the German's unanswering stare, he continued, "right. Well. I was on my way home and I couldn't help but notice you've put his things outside; I was wondering if you'd like me to take them somewhere for you? I know it must be hard."

Ludwig hesitated for a moment. "Danke, Arthur, that would be nice. Just take it anywhere, please."

"Sure thing. Hang in there, old chap. I'll send you some scones."

The remaining color drained from Ludwig's face. "You really don't have to do that."

"Oh, nonsense."

They said their goodbyes and Arthur began to load Gilbert's boxes into the trunk of his car.

"I'd help you if I could," Gilbert said regretfully as Arthur struggled with a particularly heavy box. He just got a grunt in response.

Gilbert successfully got into England's car, but the first time he started to drive, he was left behind as the car moved without him. He ran to catch up at the end of the driveway, this time actually staying in the vehicle.

After not having anyone to talk to for days, he rambled continuously for the whole drive back to Arthur's house. The poor Brit didn't know what he'd just gotten himself into.

**Sprecht mich: Speak to me**

**Dummkopf: literally dumb head...it's an insult. Like calling someone stupid. But not quite as mean as you could possibly get. **

**Was machst du?: what are you doing?**

**Halten Sie: stop**

**Thanks for reading! For you new people, I always reply to reviews :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey everyone! Sorry about the wait. Thanks for all the alerts/faves/reviews!**

OOO

Gilbert couldn't have asked for a better person to live with while he was in this state: Arthur actually had decent tips and was able to help with understanding his situation. He watched helplessly as Arthur carried his stuff into his half empty basement.

"I'll bring it all down for you, but you're going to have to unpack it yourself," he said sternly.

"But I don't know how I can touch things!"

"But you can. And you're just going to have to figure it out. If I do everything for you, you'll never learn. You seem to do better when you aren't thinking about it."

"How can I _not_ think about it?"

Arthur sighed. "I know it must be hard-"

"You have no idea." Gilbert interrupted.

"_but,_" Arthur continued with an irritated look, "you can get through this. You can control it. If anyone can, you could, with your bloody stubbornness."

"Aww, I didn't know you felt that way!" Gilbert teased.

"I-I...shut up, you wanker!" Arthur spluttered, turning pink.

"Kesesese! I was kidding!" he laughed.

"Yes...well..." the Englishman paused. "I'm going to go make dinner, do you want anything? Er...I mean...not to sound rude, but...do you eat?"

"No." Gilbert replied sulkily.

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," he said, wishing he had someone to blame, that would make things easier. "I think I'll just try to unpack whatever I can touch and go to bed early."

"Right. Ok then." Arthur turned to make his way up the stairs. "Wait." He turned around. "You can sleep?"

"Uh, yeah. Of course I can sle- oh." Gilbert started to retort, then realized why Arthur was asking. He was a freaking ghost, not even an awesome one, sleeping wasn't normal.

"Interesting."

Well, maybe a little awesome. Doing things ghosts couldn't typically do wasn't _un_-awesome at least.

"What else can you do?" Arthur asked inquisitively, still paused on the stairs with his hand on the railing.

"I don't know," Gilbert replied. Honestly, he hadn't really thought about it. He'd been so focused on the things he couldn't do, the traits he'd lost, that he'd never even noticed the things he retained from his human life. He stood up from where he had flopped on Arthur's spare old couch (which was a bit lumpy for his tastes, but who was he to complain?) and started to follow him up the stairs.

Arthur led him to the kitchen and started to cook, or at least attempt to, while Gilbert thought over his past few days of being dead. He tried to casually lean against the counter, but fell through, managing to land with a loud crash in the used-to-be neat stack of the Englishman's cookie sheets (that he no doubt used to make those god-awful rock hard scones he kept trying to get everyone to eat).

"Gilbert!" Arthur exclaimed, and the albino wasn't sure if it was out of concern for his safety, scolding him, or in concern of his pans.

"I'm fine!" he said, untangling himself and haphazardly re-stacking the cookware. "I think you were right. I was kind of thinking about the counter before I leaned on it. Well. Tried to, anyway. But once I fell I definitely wasn't thinking about any of this!" he tapped the stack with his shoe, causing one pan to slide and the whole stack to tip precariously.

"Just-just sit somewhere and don't destroy my kitchen!"

"Like you need my help to do that. Not like it'll make a difference in your cooking." he muttered under his breath.

Arthur turned a little red, but continued his interrupted cooking. "_Anyway._ What else can you do?"

"Well, I can talk to you. I don't eat, but I haven't really tired. I haven't felt hungry, so I didn't notice for a while. You can see me, but no one else can. I can sometimes touch things. I sleep, but maybe because I'm bored. I haven't been able to touch anything alive, unless you count grass or whatever. Does that help?" he rambled.

"Well, it's certainly different."

"Different good or different bad?"

"I don't know. I'll have to check my books later to see if there's a better explanation for some of your...abilities."

"Awesome."

"Erm, yes. Anything else?"

"Uh...like what?"

"Well, can you..." he paused, thinking. "Can you drink?"

"No!" he said, clearly upset. "Mein Gott, I tried, but my beer went straight through me to the floor! I didn't even feel it or taste it or anything! A waste of a perfectly good beer! So not awesome."

"...I'm sorry?"

"Danke. It sucks. I think I miss it almost as much as talking to people or being seen or whatever."

"hmmm." Arthur replied thoughtfully, leaning against the counter.

"Uh, Arthur? Your...stew or whatever the fuck that's supposed to be is on fire." Gilbert pointed out.

"Oh!" he quickly moved the pot off the stove, then poured it into a bowl, sitting at his table across from Gilbert.

"Scheiße, are you really going to eat that?" he asked, looking at it in distaste.

"It's not that bad." Arthur said defensively.

"Look at it!" The stew, or whatever it really was, was greyish, lumpy, and the broth was too watery. Part of it still had smoke coming out if it. "It _smells _that bad."

Arthur furrowed his massive eyebrows into a glare for a moment, then looked at him thoughtfully. "So you still have your sense of smell."

"Apparently."

"Your hearing and sight are fine, I presume, but your touch is affected. And you haven't been able to taste anything?"

"I haven't tried much, but yeah, my eyes and ears are the same."

"Have you been able to see anything you can't normally? Like other ghosts or mythical creatures or anything?"

Gilbert looked at him skeptically, "not that I know of."

"Don't give me that look! You of all people should know it's plausible now at least."

Gilbert sighed. "Ja. I guess."

"Why don't you go ahead and try to unpack some and I'll go see what I can find in my books."

Gilbert nodded and wandered back down into the basement. By the time it was late, even by his standards, all he'd managed to get were his pillow and blanket.

OOO

It had taken him the better part of a week, but after a lot of failed attempts, some practice, and a bit of whining to Arthur, he'd successfully (with some help) unpacked his things into his half of the Englishman's basement. After the first day or two, they had both realized that Gilbert would be staying there for quite a while, seeing as he was constantly having troubles adjusting to his new lifestyle. The main problem was that things got worse when he was frustrated, which happened easily enough and caused him to become more frustrated.

His pillows and blankets were piled on the lumpy couch that was serving as his bed. He had slept on a couch in his brother's basement so it wasn't really much of a changed. There was a change, however, in his sleeping position, as he would generally become upset about something before going to sleep, and find himself falling through the blankets rather than laying under them.

Most of his clothes were shoved in a corner, as the clothes he was wearing when he died or whatever happened to him seemed to have the same properties as his body. They stayed on him no matter how many things he went through. At least he had been wearing something he liked and it wasn't embarrassing or anything. Not like anyone but Arthur could see his jeans, black T-shirt, and plaid scarf anyways, he realized with a depressed sigh. He also had discovered that he couldn't feel the air temperature ever, which he supposed was a good thing if he stuck around long enough to go through all the seasons.

He had a few books that were stacked on the bottom shelf of an old bookcase Arthur had been storing in his basement. Most of the time he had just mooched stuff off of West. If he'd wanted to read, to watch a movie, to go on the computer, he'd just use Ludwig's things.

If anything good had come out of this whole thing, it was the amount of outlets Arthur had in his basement. Gilbert was able to set up his entire stereo system without having to sacrifice any speakers like he had to at his brother's house. There were enough outlets for all of his plugs. It was going to be awesome. His extensive CD collection had been unpacked onto the rest of the bookshelf and mostly organized by genre. Arthur looked wary of the large speakers set up around his basement, but it helped distract Gilbert from getting frustrated or thinking about his lack of solidity, so he allowed it. The sooner Gilbert could sort out his...situation, the sooner he could get his basement back.

It had taken a while, but the full extent of his situation seemed to hit Gilbert suddenly. He became depressed, almost silent as he sulked on his couch for days at a time, listening to his stereo at too loud of a volume without moving. Arthur had found him in a particularly dark moment and demanded that he at least come upstairs to talk while Arthur made dinner.

"Gilbert, I don't understand," Arthur began as he started to cook something the albino didn't really care about. "You seemed like you were going to be fine. You were getting the hang of touching things and you went a whole day without falling through anything. What happened?"

Gilbert just sat there for a moment. What _happened?_ What happened was that the Great and Awesome Prussia had been reduced to a semi-transparent ghost whose greatest accomplishment was not falling through something. What happened was Gilbert was constantly aware of the sheer loneliness of being invisible to everyone but Arthur, who seemed to care a decent amount, but it just wasn't quite enough. Not to mention all the things he'd wanted to do but couldn't now that he wasn't alive, all the things he'd taken for-granted in his human life. He was miserable, he was bored, and he didn't realize how much he'd miss everyone.

"Everything. Nothing. I don't know." he replied monotonously. How in Fritz's name was he supposed to explain all of that?

Arthur's eyes narrowed slightly. "There's no reason for you to be using that tone with me, I'm just concerned. Now tell me what the bloody hell is wrong."

"It just sucks." Arthur winced, probably at his 'butchering of the English language' but Gilbert didn't care. "There's just so much I wanted to do but I can't now and stupid things I've done that I shouldn't have and stuff I'd forgotten about and things I'll never experience and being like this is so not awesome. I miss everything and it's stupid that the best thing I've done is to not fall through something, it's pathetic, and yeah I like being alone, but I fucking hate being lonely. Scheiße!" Gilbert ranted quickly, sentences running together, unable to stop himself once he started.

At the end, Arthur just stood there looking like he was trying to take it all in and Gilbert felt a bit better. Just a bit. Maybe it was because it was the most he'd said in days. Maybe because he wasn't in the basement in the dark with his favorite angsty music. Maybe it had nothing to do with anything. Hell if he knew anymore.

"Well, I'm sorry Gilbert, I can only imagine what you're going through. However I think if you really try to come to terms with it you can get back to almost how you were."

"How the hell am I supposed to just accept the fact that I'm not a nation anymore? That I'm dead?" Gilbert interrupted. "And it won't be like it was before, only you can see and hear me. I can't talk to anyone. No one would know I'm there."

Arthur looked at him curiously. "What you just said then...it reminds me of someone."

"Who?"

"I...I don't know."

"Whatever. And it sucks that my awesome is gone." Gilbert pouted.

"I'm sure you could regain your..._awesome_...if you tried." The word had sounded foreign and awkward on Arthur's tongue, but it made Gilbert almost smile.

"Really?"

"Of course you can. It'll be up to you though."

OOO

It's not to say Gilbert didn't _try. _He did. But he was prone to frustration and still had issues with things. Even though it wasn't really Arthur's fault, Gilbert wanted someone to blame, so he spent his time practicing his abilities to pick things up with the Englishman's extensive collection of teacups, most of which were on shelves in the other half of the basement.

Sometimes the shattering porcelain had a satisfying crash onto the floor. Other times it just made him more upset. Not quite as upset as Arthur, who had to sweep it up because Gilbert wouldn't, ranting about how the teacups were antiques or of a certain rare pattern or something Gilbert tuned out. He felt bad, usually, but he was bored and angry and couldn't do what he wanted.

After a long day of trying not to walk through solid walls, Gilbert was tired, frustrated, and depressed. He had gotten stuck between walls for a while too, almost having a panic attack. He had already made Arthur yell at him twice for his music being too loud and so he had just turned it off for the night. He carefully picked up a small yellow glass bird that was one of his own possessions. It was simple, not intricate, and leaned slightly when it was set on flat surfaces. But West had given it to him centuries ago when Gilbert was trying to raise him, and he loved it. It really was a wonder he could hold it since he'd been practicing all day and-

The bird fell through his hand. Gilbert frantically tried to catch it with his hands, feet, anything, but it hit the floor with a sickening shattering sound. He stared in disbelief at the twelve or so shards of glass that had once been his little yellow bird. Was this what Arthur felt when he broke his teacups? It couldn't be, he had so many, and Gilbert just had this one.

"What the hell are you doing down there?" he heard Arthur yell from the top of the stairs. "I swear, if you've broken another one of my teacups, so help me, I'll kill you!"

"You can't do that, I'm already dead!" he snapped back petulantly without thinking.

Arthur fell silent and Gilbert gingerly picked up the pieces of glass, blinking back tears. He hid them in the corner of a box, then got onto his lumpy couch-bed to try to sleep. He felt tears prick at his eyes again and this time let them fall. Since when could he cry? Since when did he ever cry? With a sniff, he wiped them away hastily and rolled over, not bothering to stop the slow tears following them.

Eventually he fell into a fitful sleep. He didn't notice he had successfully gotten on the couch and under his blankets. He didn't notice that he'd managed to keep his head on the pillow for once. He didn't notice Arthur come down later, whispering apologies, looking confused at the lack of porcelain on the floor, and pulling the blankets a bit higher on his shoulders.

OOO

**Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear what everyone thinks so far! **


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey everyone! Thanks for all the alerts and things :) Sorry about the wait as well. **

**If Gilbert seems OOC, it's because, well, he is. He's not really been himself since Prussia fell, and he's been too depressed to be awesome thus far. But don't worry. He'll get back to normal. **

Throughout the next week, Gilbert was even moodier than usual. He had pretty much given up on trying to pick things up, and much to Arthur's chagrin, he seemed to prefer going through walls to using doorways. He tagged along with the Englishman to the World Meeting and actually sat there for a bit, before getting bored with pretending and frustrated about not being able to interject his opinions, so he spent his time staring around the table, depressed.

Francis and Antonio didn't seem to have a sadness haunting them anymore, and the rest of the nations were acting normally. Had they all moved on that easily from his awesome? Gilbert frowned. But his face softened into a grimace of sympathy when his crimson eyes fell on Ludwig, who still looked as if he hadn't been sleeping. While Gilbert had been upset about his friends moving on so quickly, he wished West could, it was upsetting to see him like this. And it seemed to be affecting Feliciano as well. Though he hadn't gotten to know the small Italian as well as he would have liked, he knew Feliciano loved his brother, and it broke his heart to see the usually happy face transform into one of a man who wanted nothing more than to help the one he loved, but had no idea how.

When the meeting finally ended, Gilbert followed the crowd of nations hurrying to leave. "Mein Gott, was it just me, or was this meeting even more boring than usual?" he said to no one in particular, as Arthur was trying to talk to Ludwig about something while Feliciano was trying to drag him off for pasta somewhere.

He walked back to the Englishman's house alone, through the front door, the walls, the basement door, and the stairs. The only things he touched were his favorite Rammstein CD, the play button on his stereo, and the volume knob to turn it on full blast. He figured he could get through a song or two before Arthur intervened.

As if on cure, in the middle of the second track, the volume was suddenly lowered. "Some of us would like to keep our eardrums intact," Arthur grumbled. "I'm shocked none of the neighbors have noticed the sudden addition of blasted German metal coming out of my bloody basement at random hours.

"Hey Britannien. Maybe they think you finally got a decent taste in music." Gilbert joked.

"I doubt it," he sulked. "Well I suppose I'm glad to see you're acting a bit more like yourself...You were crying the other night, would you like to talk about it?"

Gilbert's face fell in milliseconds. "Nein."

"It's obviously bothering you, it'll help if you-"

"It's nothing you can fix!" he interrupted and strode away up the stairs and through the door.

"Oh bloody- Gilbert!" Arthur marched up after him.

"What!" the albino demanded, suddenly appearing through the wall on Arthur's left causing the Brit to jump.

"Would you _stop _doing that? I thought you were trying!"

"I was! And what's the point? I'm a ghost, I may as well act like one!" And to make a point, Gilbert ran through the adjacent wall and back. "Boo!"

"If you're _trying_ to make me irritated, you're succeeding. You're more of a poltergeist anyway."

"Whatever! It doesn't really matter what I am if no one but you can see me!"

"Well I'm glad you think so highly of me."

"It's not about you! Sheiße!"

Arthur opened his mouth, presumably to argue back, then sighed, bringing a hand to his temple. "I apologize," he said through gritted teeth, "but you know that I've been reading about this, and you know I think that if you try you can be almost like you were before. Don't you want a sense of normalcy?"

"Well I don't know how long I'll be here, so what's the point?"

"I don't see you going anywhere anytime soon."

"Germania and Roman Empire are gone. So won't I just end up disappearing soon?"

"Maybe. But I don't think that will happen to you. You aren't gone yet. And there's something different about you and your situation than theirs, but I can't quite put my finger on it."

Gilbert let out a frustrated sigh. "Well, I'm getting fucking tired of all these unanswered questions."

"Well I'm getting tired of your constant mood swings between depression and anger. Why don't you just go away!"

"I would if I had anywhere else to go!"

"I meant just for a few hours, you wanker! I know you can't go anywhere else. Just-just go, I don't know, creep on people for a bit! I know you can't talk to them, but it'll do us both some good if we got a break from each other. Maybe it'll be good for you to visit people."

"And maybe it'll just suck and make me more depressed."

Arthur sighed. "Yes, maybe. But you can talk at them I suppose, you do it to me all the time. Just pretend they're listening. I don't know. Just don't move their things around or anything."

"I know! I'm not stupid!" Gilbert snapped.

"Good God, Gilbert, I know! You make me question that sometimes though. I'm just trying to help!"

Gilbert stood there for a moment, trying to think of another comeback, but gave up and sighed. "Ja. I guess you're right. I'll go for a while. Hey, it's a good thing Francis can't do this," he managed to semi-joke.

"Oh god." Arthur said in horror.

"Well, I guess I'll be back later then," Gilbert said, and later was accurate. It was so much later, in fact, that Arthur was asleep by the time he got home.

He had gone to Alfred's house first since the American lived close by. He found him playing video games, as expected. They used to team up on the multi-player ones sometimes. Gilbert sat on the arm of the couch and watched Alfred play for a while, yelling at someone through his headset.

It was like watching a movie, when you yell at the screen in vain attempts to communicate with the characters, but slightly more frustrating, by Gilbert's standards. Every once in a while, he found himself shouting out commands to Alfred like he was playing too. He felt the agony of defeat when Alfred's avatar lost a life, and celebrated when the American won as if he'd been able to help.

"Alfred, I missed your awesomeness." Gilbert said with a sigh when the American got up from his couch to grab some snacks and put in another game. "Though you're not quite as awesome as I was. Kesesese."

He watched the progression of another game, but started to get frustrated that no matter how much he talked or yelled at Alfred, he wasn't heard. But it was almost like hanging out with his friend again, even if Alfred didn't know he existed. The American's attitude was what he needed at the moment; indifferent, cocky, happy...he hadn't changed, and it comforted Gilbert.

He followed Alfred around his house when he was done with the game, commenting uselessly on the mass amounts of food in his kitchen, the somewhat cleaner state of his house, and the ridiculousness of the cowboy hat hanging by the door when there weren't any horses around. He left as soon as Alfred headed off to his shower; he sure as hell didn't want to see _that_.

He walked around aimlessly, slightly deterred by how late it had gotten, but came across a house with lights still on. It was Vash's house, and if he remembered correctly, the heavily armed nation's sister lived with him. He hadn't been to visit Vash in ages! This should be fun. And this time, he couldn't get threatened!

He drifted through the wall into the room with the lights to see Vash hunched over a table with a stack of paper. Upon closer inspection, he saw the Swiss man was drawing. _Cute _things. He didn't know that Vash could draw, and he never thought he'd draw things so adorable.

"Big brother!" so Lili _was_ here. "I made you something!" the small girl skipped over with a prettily wrapped box.

"Oh. Thank you," he said stiffly, "Here are your pictures."

"Thank you, big brother! They're so cute!" Lili gushed as she hugged the drawings to herself.

Vash tugged the ribbon off the box and opened it to reveal a set of pink pajamas. He held them up with an odd expression.

"Do you like them?" she asked hopefully.

"Uh...yeah. They're great. Thanks, Lili."

Oh this was _gold._Gilbert snickered quietly. He wished he could tell someone. Even Austria would get a kick out of it. Specs! He hadn't even thought to visit him yet!

Gilbert ran down the street to Roderich's house, and was surprised to see the lights on. Usually the Austrian went to bed early. And was that _Hungary's _car in his driveway? "I totally knew it!" Gilbert announced as he burst through the wall into Roderich's music room where Elizaveta was watching the Austrian play.

"Good for you, Specs, I'm happy for you." And he was. They looked so _happy _together. He knew it would happen of course, he was that awesome, but he didn't think Roderich would ever get up the nerve to ask Elizaveta out. Maybe she asked him, Gilbert laughed to himself. She _would. _Maybe even threaten him if he said no. He watched them for a while, but the longer he observed them being happy together, the more lonely he felt. Maybe Arthur's idea _was_ stupid; it was just making him more upset. Because now the only person he could have a fraction of that with would be Arthur, and that was not fucking happening. He missed physical contact and he wished he hadn't treated it so meaninglessly when he was alive. Regretting things sucked.

He drifted out of the Austrian's house and slowly made his way back to Arthur's. He wasn't surprised to find the Englishman asleep, and since it was well past the time he'd expected to get back, Gilbert went through the stairs down to his couch-bed in the basement.

OOO

In the morning, Gilbert figured it was time to visit the Bad Touch Trio's surviving members to see how they were faring without him. Maybe they would cheer him up. He turned towards Francis' house first since it was likely that the Spaniard was still asleep. It was too early for most people to be awake, but Gilbert was restless and bored after a night of tossing and turning, trying to sleep, and so he was hoping Francis would be awake.

He knew better than to go into the Frenchman's bedroom without knocking, lest he see something he _really_ wished he hadn't, so he went through the front door like most normal people. Except, unlike normal people, he actually went _through _the door. He was appalled at the mess he found; usually Francis was the neatest of the three. There were old wine glasses littering most flat surfaces of the living room and discarded clothes on the floor. But worst of all was Francis, passed out and lightly snoring on his couch, surrounded by recently poured bottles of wine. He had tear stains on his cheeks and was clutching a framed picture in one hand.

The Frenchman rolled over and his arm hung off the side of the couch. Leaning closer, Gilbert saw that the picture was one of the Bad Touch Trio that they had taken not too long ago.

"Dammit, Francis," Gilbert said softly. It appeared he wasn't holding up as well as he thought. It didn't take him too long to decide to hold off on Antonio's visit for a bit. Though the Spaniard had Lovino and Francis was dealing with things alone, Antonio had always been more emotional about things.

As tempted as he was to clean up his friend's things to try to help, he knew it would just make things worse, so he remained seated by Francis, looking on helplessly.

When Francis finally woke up, Gilbert left him to go back to Arthur's house.

"Where have you been?" Arthur said as Gilbert entered the kitchen.

"I was taking your advice, which sucks, by the way. Everyone's either happy and together, which makes me sad, or they're depressed, which makes me sad. Do me a favor? I know you hate Francis, but he's really not ok. Just...I don't know, be there for him if he needs you? He's pretending to be stronger than he is." Gilbert ranted.

"I...well, I suppose I could, if I must."

"Danke."

"Was anything good about your visits?"

"Well I guess. Roderich and Elizaveta are together, and they're happy, so I'm happy for them. I'm just jealous, as much as I hate to admit it. If I was as awesome as I used to be, I wouldn't be jealous. Everyone would be jealous of me!"

"Er...right."

"And Alfred's doing pretty well. Maybe I'll go see Mathias later and make sure the rest of the Awesome Trio is doing ok."

"Well good. I'm glad it's making you feel better now that you have something to do. And you're finally talking more, as much as I hate to phrase it that way."

"Yeah I guess...what are you making?" he asked as Arthur started pouring unmeasured ingredients into a large bowl.

"Making scones. For your brother."

"Ugh. Just make them plain," Gilbert complained when Arthur picked up a box of raisins.

"But they're supposed to have some sort of fruit in them."

"Trust me. If you want him to even think about eating them, make them plain. So you won't burn them or have them mixed weird. Maybe they'll be almost edible that way."

"Oh ha bloody ha," Arthur retorted, but put away the raisins nonetheless.

"When are you bringing them? Can I come?"

"I couldn't stop you if I wanted to. I'm going by later this afternoon when these are done."

Gilbert went back into his basement to try to drown out the anticipation of the smell of smoke with his death metal. He made sure not to make it too loud, otherwise Arthur would leave his cooking unattended, and it would either set his house on fire or come to life. Either way, it was a bad plan.

A few hours later, they had the scones (that were oddly flat) neatly arranged on a plate and were on the way to Ludwig's house.

Arthur rang the doorbell and after a few moments, the door was answered by Feliciano.

"Ve~ Hello Arthur. How are you?" he said in a voice not quite as happy as the Italian usually sounded.

"I'm fine, Feliciano, how are you?"

"I'm fine," he replied with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Are you here to see Ludwig?"

"Yes, is he here?"

Feliciano nodded and led Arthur into the German's house, Gilbert following closely, looking more and more concerned as they continued into the house. Nothing was quite as sterile and organized as it used to be; in fact, it reminded him of when Feliciano used to clean Roderich's house. The Italian must be doing so much more to take care of his brother than he knew.

Feliciano led them to Ludwig's office which was filled with just as many papers as his office downtown with his boss. His brother was shuffling through a large stack of papers that Gilbert recognized as his own, trying to organize them into a more orderly manner.

"Ludwig? Arthur's here to see you," Feliciano said quietly. Ludwig looked up and he looked as if he hadn't slept in days. He tried to clear his face into his typical stoic expression, but it seemed pained.

"Ah...good afternoon, Arthur."

"Hello, Ludwig, sorry to bother you. I brought you those scones that I promised I'd make." Arthur held out the plate, which Feliciano took carefully.

"Thank you." Ludwig said stiffly.

"Er..."Arthur looked sideways at Gilbert, who was trying to get his eye contact.

"Say something nice!" he mumbled at the Brit.

"If you need anything, don't hesitate to call, or stop by, or anything. I, er, really am sorry and I want to help in any way that I can," he said a bit awkwardly, "I...I know he wouldn't want you to be this upset."

"...Ja. Thank you, Arthur. I know he wouldn't. If I need anything, I'll let you know. I'm sorry, but I really need to go through these papers." Gilbert didn't miss the grimace on Feliciano's face as he mentioned more work.

"Ve~ I'll walk you out." Arthur nodded and followed Feliciano towards the door.

"West, bitte, don't do this to yourself because of me," Gilbert said quietly and looked at his brother sadly for a moment. It wasn't fair that his death or disappearance or whatever was doing this to the people that he cared about. And as much as he hated seeing them like this, it was better than just ignoring them. He _had _to know. _Had_ to find a way to make this better on them. Maybe Arthur could come up with something clever.

"Feliciano, I meant what I said. You too, let me know if you need anything. I know this is hard on you too," Arthur said gently.

"Grazie, Arthur. I will. He's trying I think, but it's hard I wish I could help but I don't know what to do, and half of the time I'm afraid I'm making it worse, and I try not to talk about my brother because even though he doesn't like Lovino much, I think it makes him sad, and now I don't see Lovino much and I don't like it, but I love Ludwig and I don't want him to be so upset. I try to make him pasta, gnocchi especially, even wurst, but he doesn't eat much, and he barely sleeps, and he just hides in his work all the time and I-I just don't know!" Feliciano wailed quietly, his speech getting faster and faster as he talked, making sure to keep quiet enough so Ludwig wouldn't hear.

Gilbert knew he'd _have _to talk to Arthur about this. There had to be something he could do.

"I'm sure your being there is helping more than you realize." Arthur said comfortingly.

"Really?" the Italian perked up a bit.

"Yes, I fear he'd be much worse without you. You keep him on his schedule and make sure he eats, you're always there if he needs you, you're helping the most." Gilbert nodded in agreement.

"Ve~ I guess. I just wish he'd be happy again."

"Maybe you could try talking to him. Or try to be your happy, affectionate self," the Englishman suggested.

"But Ludwig never seemed to like that much. And I can't be happy if he's not happy!" Feliciano looked as if he were about to cry again.

"He does! He really likes you, Feli!" Gilbert exclaimed, "Arthur, tell him Ludwig likes him, that he likes his hugs! He didn't show it, but they really made him happier."

"Feliciano, I...I think Ludwig actually would need your, er, hugs, now more than ever."

"You think so?"

"Yes. I believe they may really help him. He needs comfort, and who better to give it to him than you?"

"Ve~ you're right. I'll try. Thank you Arthur! And thanks for the funny biscuits!"

"_Scones_, Feliciano." Arthur managed a smile. "And you're welcome. I'll make more if you want." Gilbert shook his head and Feliciano's new-found smile wavered a bit.

"I'll let you know if Ludwig wants more."

"Brilliant! See you at the next meeting, then."

They said their goodbyes and Gilbert followed Arthur back to his house, remaining uncharacteristically silent as he went back over everything in his head, trying to find a way to fix the problems his death inadvertently caused.

OOO

**Matthew shows up in the next chapter :)**


End file.
